Lyrics

The Poet

He arranges sprays of words like flowers;
Delicate, nuanced and fading fast;
This grieving man who counts the hours.

He writes of a transcendent vision yet still he cowers
Before the edifice of the past;
Arranging sprays of words like flowers.

Her voice once pierced his pride in power
And broke his vagrant heart like glass,
This grieving man who counts the hours.

She spoke, saying, “What of a love like ours,
That ancient alchemy unsurpassed,
Beyond a spray of words like flowers?”

But love, a searing meteor shower,
Exposes a universe too vast
For a grieving man who counts the hours.

In due time the tall stone towers
Crumble in the dust yet love outlasts
Delicate sprays of words like flowers
From a grieving man who counts the hours.